


A Stolen Passcode, A Gap in the Timeline

by dottieapple



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: M/M, Morning After, Romance, Suggestive Themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-11
Updated: 2017-09-11
Packaged: 2018-12-26 10:25:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12057042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dottieapple/pseuds/dottieapple
Summary: After the Grand Prix Finals, Yuuri Katsuki contemplates what he has learned about his lover Victor Nikiforov, and longs to fill the gaps in his memory that would fully flesh out their love story--maybe even change it if he'd remembered anything about that night at the previous season's banquet. Yuuri sneaks a peek at Victor's phone and almost makes up for lost time.





	A Stolen Passcode, A Gap in the Timeline

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own any of these characters, or the show Yuri On Ice!!, or any of its related properties. I do not write for the show; I gawk at Kubo-sensei's Twitter but I'm not affiliated. I'm just a fangirl, standing (on the internet) in front of a legion of fans, putting my huge imagination to good use.
> 
> This is my first fanfic. TBH, I don't like the title I've given it but I had to start somewhere. 
> 
> xo, Dot

I figured out his passcode. I don’t think he knows--and if he does know, I hope he thinks it's cute. Victor seems to think everything I do is cute. He thought I was asleep when he got in the shower, but I had my eyes shut only until the bathroom door clicked closed and the water came on. I felt my cheeks redden when I discovered Victor keeps an entire folder labeled  _ Yuuri!!  _ in his photos. My body still warms to this day whenever I think of this. 

The pics there wouldn’t raise any eyebrows. There are a lot of them, but any casually prying eyes would see nothing out of the ordinary. The photos document the coach observing his star skater. There are shots of me at practice, arms extended in different positions for multiple attempts at the same jumps. Action shots of blurred spins or gliding leg extensions. Shots of me hovering over the ice, mid-rotation. Shots of me, red-faced, leaning against the rink wall with a water bottle at my lips. Just a day in the life of a skater and coach, right?  
  
But there is a hidden folder after the mundane photos. It’s labeled частный _[Private]_ and it’s everything he wouldn’t want the press to get hold of. This one, I’m laughing while eating a slice of pie at an American diner, and you can see his hand reaching to wipe a smudge of whipped cream from the corner of my mouth. 

This one, well let’s just say he was being sneaky. That is clearly me, from behind, lip syncing in the mirror to Adam Lambert’s ‘For Your Entertainment’ wearing nothing but a pair of purple boxer briefs, glasses, and the goofiest expression I can make when sober.  _ Oh! I bet you thought that I was soft and sweet... _ Those are my hands, rubbing my own ass. Me, grinning like a fool while pointing suggestively at Makkachin.  _ But I’m about to turn up the heat… _ Me, face flushed, hair mussed, suddenly smirking at the camera while running my fingers down my chest. 

Everyone knows I am not bold off the ice. They see me as a polite young man from Japan, always so humble. I get lost in my own head a lot. Victor has been reminding me to be present and take in the moment, on the ice and off. Sometimes all I need to center myself is a glance at the gold ring on my right hand. I already feel incomplete if I’m not wearing it.

And here, suddenly--well, there it is. The infamous banquet shot with the two of us, blushing, grinning, so bright with my arm around Victor’s waist, his leg extended to show off his exquisite physical skills. This shot of pure joy that appeared less than 24 hours from the most heart-crushing defeat of my life. This moment that was clearly making my dreams come true, and I can’t remember a goddamned second of it beyond looking down a table of empty champagne flutes.

I ache. What kind of warmth did he give off after all that time spent on the dance floor? Did his laugh sound as musical as it does now? Did his breath hitch when I pulled him in close? If I whispered something sexy to Victor, was it even in a language he understood? I imagine what he would have felt like in my arms, his lithe body drenched in sweat, the fabric of his designer button-down shirt damp in the small of his back. 

Maybe I should be grateful that I got to have a second first-time with the love of my life. Not just the first shared knowing glance or even seeing him naked in the  _ onsen _ . I get to remember all of that. I know the intensity of my heart palpitations when seeing him asleep for the first time, not knowing how to feel with the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen sleeping on my family’s floor. And beyond that, beyond the kiss on the ice, I’ve been able to drink in each feeling and moment of our love.

He’s never told me about the end of the banquet night, except that he made sure I was safely put to bed. Of course I trust he was a gentleman, but had I kissed him? Did I sloppily taste the salt of his skin before saying goodnight? What was that like? Had Victor tucked me into bed? I had a room with Phichit, but he said I was already asleep when he came back that night. Phichit had the picture to prove it. I’m wide-mouthed and drooling onto the pillow.    
  
What I do remember is when I woke the next morning, my jacket was neatly hung in the closet while my other clothes were in a collected heap on the floor. There was a glass of water on the nightstand that I doubt I poured for myself. My glasses sat neatly atop their case by the nightstand lamp.

Between pictures in the folder obviously taken in Haesetsu and the requisite banquet shots, there is one picture. It’s mostly black with a blur, obviously an accidental button press. But in the corner I see my shoe precariously close to Victor’s, and the carpet is the garish grape purple the hotel has in its guest hallways. I was there. I was with him. I don’t remember a thing.   
  
Tonight, I counted each garment shed, each breath shared with our mouths pressed hungrily together. I lost count of each wave of pleasure that washed over me. Hopefully, I have infinite time to experience all of this new life with Victor. I don’t want to forget a moment with you, my Vitya. Never again.   
  
  


 


End file.
